


their passion, uncarefully arranged.

by SirenSong



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Forgive Me, Fraternization, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Public Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Shameless Smut, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Voyeurism, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-06 22:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14657409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirenSong/pseuds/SirenSong
Summary: It didn’t stop there because of course not. This is his captain after all and Ultra Magnus is unsure if he’s thinking this statement with fondness or annoyance. Probably annoyance.( Or Ultra Magnus deals with the aftermath of confiscated materials that most certainly came from his captain, Rodimus of Nyon. )





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairings** : Ultra Magnus/Rodimus. Implied Rodimus/Everyone. Explicitly mentioned Drift/Rodimus.
> 
>  **Warnings** : Exhibitionism. Voyeurism. Abuse of authority. Mentions of shameless fraternisation. Sticky sexual interfacing. Explicit sexual content.
> 
>  **General Notes** : For Emmy, who deals with my nonsense.
> 
>  **Newly Added Tags** : None.
> 
>  **Current Notes** : This chapter is based on a prompt I wrote on my NSFW Tumblr account during a follower celebration event. It has been edited to further polish it and expand on some scenes and thoughts I didn’t have time to add.

It’s for review.

It’s what Ultra Magnus tells himself as he continues to go through the assorted paraphernalia he had gathered from today’s round of surprise inspections in the crew’s habsuites. The more he finds a certain disc — bright gold and red in colouring, with flames etched onto the surface because why wouldn’t it, giving who was behind these items? — the more Ultra Magnus can feel the frown on his face deepen into a scowl.

He knew Rodimus had little to no shame when it came to his relentless coming ons to the crew he was meant to lead, not bed, but this has to be a new low.

Giving out highly explicit material of himself to anyone who asked for it?

_Really?_

Really, it seems. Not only that but Rodimus has been doing this for a while, if Jackpot’s (frantic) testimony is to be believed during Magnus’ interview with him. The others’ testimonies also backed up what the bot had said:

If Rodimus finds someone attractive enough to pursue or to tease at the very last, he would send them material that featured him doing something sexual in nature to entice them. Be it teasing himself or masturbating with toys or performing the act of interfacing itself( ** _!_** ), Rodimus would record the debauched act in some form and send it on its merry way to the intended recipient.

It didn’t stop there because of course not. This is his captain after all and Ultra Magnus is unsure if he’s thinking this statement with fondness or annoyance. Probably annoyance.

 _Most definitely annoyance_ , Ultra Magnus decides the more he thinks of his interview with Jackpot and others and what he had learned from them so far.

Apparently someone wanted some ‘berth material’ for themselves, they could simply waltz up to their captain and _ask_ for it and Rodimus would be all too happy to give them whatever they wanted. From what he can gather in his interviews and what he’s finding in the boxes he brought to his office, recordings are the most popular thing to request from the speedster and, just this once, Ultra Magnus can’t fault them for that aspect.

Judging by the ever growing list he’s using to record who has what, it’s starting to feel like that everyone has requested for a recording from Rodimus or has received a recording from Rodimus for their own use at some point.

Everyone but himself and that— That irritates Magnus for some reason. He tells himself it’s because he would have put a stop to this sooner if he had caught wind of this.

Making a note to give the offending parties who held these videos a more harsher sentence when he reviews their case files later, Ultra Magnus tells himself that he did not look forward to watching these recordings. He’s doing this to ensure nothing too… untoward is happening in the footage. Nothing that could be used as blackmail against Rodimus or the crew later down the line.

That’s it.

He pretends that’s a good enough excuse and he picks a disc by random and inserts it into his console. He can’t give the commend to play the recording fast enough, almost afraid he’ll be interrupted by someone or something if he doesn’t get this playing soon.

Rodimus, ever impatient in anything he does, naturally has the recording of him start with in medias res – It’s almost starling to just see his captain riding a large false spike, the gold and red mech making unabashed moans and cries of ecstasy as he fragged himself raw on the toy and chased after his own pleasure. Judging by the stickiness of Rodimus’ shaking thighs, the condensation on his frame, and the wet sheen on the false spike, it’s evident that his captain has been at this for a while.

It’s… It’s not awful as he had expected, Magnus admits, enraptured by the show that’s playing out before him on his console. His interface array certainly seems to like it with how it heats up beneath his panels thanks to the sounds of Rodimus’ wet thrusts and breathy moans, the array sending constant stream of nagging requests and pleas to please let it be released.

The requests are rejected with more harshness than necessary.

Truth be told? He had expected (perhaps almost hoping) for something cheesy and crass to be happening right now. Something tasteless and crude. Like awful porn music playing in the background or Rodimus spewing some awful and forsaken lines about how badly he wants the mech to put a sparkling in him and fill him to the brink. That sort of nonsense.

Thankfully, it seems Rodimus has some restraint. He opts to play a song that matched the tempo of his spike riding — Hard, fast, and almost dizzying to immerse one’s self in the more they took in the details of what’s happening on screen. Whatever noise he makes is restricted to pants and moans, a sudden whimper or gasp thrown now and then to entice the viewer. He tries to keep it visually exciting by playing with his straining spike or the fat little anterior node that’s pulsing a frantic light, no real rhyme or reason to its blinking the more he overloads on the toy and continues to play with himself without any rest.

Merciless. That’s a good word for how Rodimus is treating himself on the recording. He’s merciless in how he all but impales himself on the spike, grinding down on it hard and rough to get the most out of the textured surface. He rubs, caresses, and pinches himself with raw with trembling, slick fingers. He goes as far to occasionally gives his array a strong slap, making himself jolt or freeze up from the pleasure-pain-surprise that courses through his shaking frame, optics guttering out for a moment from how its too much too much too much.

It’s the gaze that catches Ultra Magnus’ attention, however.

The entire time, as Rodimus bounces up and down the spike and and plays with himself to provide extra stimulation for himself and the watcher, he keeps his startlingly clear gaze on the camera, the optics, bright and beautiful, never wavering in its intensity or apparent interest in the viewer. On the contrary: Now and then Rodimus will flash the camera a cheeky little smile, so dazzling and smug in its qualities, and something about the sight of it causes Ultra Magnus’ tanks to bubble and roil in a uncomfortable yet satisfying way.

It’s so rare for Rodimus to smile at him like that. Usually his captain will look bored when he’s interacting with him, perhaps uninterested or frustrated in dealing with his bore of an officer when he could be gallivanting about the ship with Drift or Skids or anyone else except Magnus. Or maybe Ultra Magnus will be dubiously lucky any have a smile flashed at him on purpose… though it only happens when Rodimus is trying to wiggle his way out of trouble or is trying to sway Magnus to his side when he doesn’t need to do that.

So seeing the firm gaze and pretty smile as his captains entertains himself on the screen is sending a wave of lust and hunger rolling over Magnus’ trembling while he roughly palms and paws his burning interface panel. He tries in vain to chase away the uncomfortable tightness he feels building up beneath his armour, while want and heat pools in his interface array.

“ _Ah! Like that. Just like that._ ”

For a second it feels like the air has been snatched out from Magnus’ vents, his body startled by the sudden fierce want that ripples through his wanting and reaching field.

Primus did he— Is the volume on the console at its maximum setting? It almost sounds like Rodimus is on his very lap and that thought alone is enough to make Magnus’ processor spin with endless possibilities. Rodimus bouncing up and down on his lap. Rodimus pressed up against his chassis. Rodimus trying to force his tight little valve to take Magnus’ spike all the way in while he screamed—

“ _Hound! Hngh! Hound! Hound, please!_ ”

Hearing Hound’s name being all but screamed out in ecstasy is what breaks the ex-Enforcer out of the trance, almost like a container of ice cold solvent being poured over his helm while lust and want is replaced with annoyance and mortification.

Magnus reluctantly onlines his optics and uses his free servo to pulls out the interspecs information from the disc to sate his morbid curiosity. Sure enough the disc he’s currently watching is specifically addressed and datatied to Hound of Orinius, given last week at around the time of 01:13, night cycle.

Rodimus must personalise the recordings, Magnus realises with irritation and something more, something he couldn’t identify in that moment. He makes sure to actually say the name of the mech for everyone he gives these videos to.

Everyone but him.

 _Jealousy_ , some little voice in his processor suddenly tells him, providing him an answer to a question he must have thought of before this. _You’re feeling jealous. Left out. After all you’ve done for him._

He couldn't feel jealous however, he tried to reason with this other part of him. He had no right to be jealous. Not really. Ultra Magnus— Ultra Magnus can’t fault Rodimus for having no interest in him, in not considering the possibility of trying to pull this stunt with him. Rodimus must have (correctly) known that approaching Magnus with this sort of material will only net him a scolding and a trip to the brig.

But something about this discovery is galling to him. It’s caused this low burn in his tanks to eat away at him since he walked into Drift’s habsuite during the surprise inspection. Found the flustered mech trying to turn off a recording of Rodimus sucking on an anonymous mech’s spike, the red and gold helm bobbing up and down on the spike like it was the sweetest thing to coat his glossa. It feels like slap to the face with how it feels so deliberate, how much effort Rodimus must have put into keeping him in the dark about these arrangements.

He feels angry the more he thinks about Rodimus sneaking behind his back like this. Fooling around with other mechs who clearly don’t adore _his_ captain enough. They’ve _admitted_ in their interviews to trading the videos and other materials around, swapping them amongst each other like they’re all trophies to covet, not treasures to cherish.

 _Maybe I should punish him for this_ , Magnus thinks to himself and, before he can stop his processor from betraying him, a wretchedly vivid image of Rodimus kneeling before him emerges.

Ultra Magnus could see it now, so detailed and vivid his spark hurts knowing it isn’t real. Rodimus, struggling to take Magnus’ spike into his mouth. Those sinfully full lips of his wrapped around tight on the leaking head as he suckled and sucked on the the tip like it was the sweetest thing to coat his glossa. Just the tip of it too. Magnus knew that Rodimus’ mouth would be far, far too small to take Magnus’ spike and they both knew Rodimus would be taking it either way. Part of his due punishment for being such a tease, a flirt with everyone but Magnus.

Oh— He could see it now. He honestly could with how the the details, so vivid and real in his processor, became more and more defined with every passing second. The more his processor embellished the scene he can see in his mind's eye, the more his breathing became more laboured and the palming of his array became more rough, frantic. He could see Rodimus’ optics looking up at him. Magnus knew they would be fever bright with lust and exertion, blurry with coolant and condensation as the captain quietly and pleadingly begged for some measure of relief that his shaking frame and ragged field all but screamed for. The speedster unable to do anything with his servos bound behind him, a charge inhibitor placed around his throbbing spike and a magnetised lock to keep his valve from being exposed to the air and Magnus’ temptations.

He would be at the mercies of Magnus as the larger mech decide to thrust his hips forward, again and again, into Rodimus’ throat, bulge forming in his throat with how bigger Magnus is compared to anyone else Rodimus would have had up to this encounter. His aching spike surging in and out of the open and drooling mouth, forcing his length down Rodimus’ intake until his captain’s face was pressed flush against his hips.

Then Rodimus would look up at him, with blurry optics and a mouthful of too much spike, and _smile_.

That’s what has Magnus tipping over at the end. The charge that’s been building up in him ever since he gave the command to play the recording is released. It comes out in bursts of lights and showers of sparks, arcs of electricity weaving in and out from the gaps of his armour and jumping high into the air. His spike — when did his spike come out to be touched? Magnus wonders with much surprise and little shame at this point — spills forth spurt after spurt of thick transfluid across its length and the fluids run down his white servos, staining his fingers a faint shade of pink as the video comes to an end.

The brightness of Rodimus’ smile, imagined and real, continues to burn in the back of his fuzzy processor while Ultra Magnus pulls himself together, his struts relaxed and weak after the overload of his.

Magnus perhaps can see why the recordings are the most popular things to request from the captain.

The recordings…

Right. The recordings. The rest of the one hundred and thirteen discs he had to watch. Along with the very thorough inspection of the images and messages and other miscellaneous items that had been confiscated from the others. Soon as possible, preferably.

All in the name of reviewing, Ultra Magnus tells himself upon sitting up proper on his seat and reaching out for the box of discs to begin his selection of what to watch next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /shrugs into the sweet void, unable to look any of you in the eye


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairings:** Ultra Magnus/Rodimus. Implied Rodimus/Everyone. Explicitly mentioned Drift/Rodimus.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Abuse of authority. Semi-public sex. Someone walking in on a heck of a show. Sticky sexual interfacing. Explicit sexual content.
> 
>  **General Notes:** For Emmy, who puts up with my nonsense.
> 
>  **Newly Added Tags:** Semi-Public Sex. Public Masturbation. Masturbation Interruptus. Walking In On Someone.
> 
>  **Current Notes:** This chapter is based on a prompt I wrote on my NSFW Tumblr account during a follower celebration event. It has been edited to further polish it and expand on some scenes and thoughts I didn’t have time to add.

It’s for review.

Its what he tells himself when he goes every video and scours every photo and reads every message, all of them seemingly more obscene than the last one. It’s what he reminds himself when he listens to every name that passes Rodimus’ panting mouth and feels his tanks burn hot at the fact his name is never said once. It’s what he thinks is what caused all of this when he finds himself observing far too closely in the way the trickles of lubricant and trails of transfluids run down Rodimus’ shapely thighs as he rides his fingers, toys, and spikes both real and fake.

It happens to be Ultra Magnus’ only real excuse when he sends an order to his captain to please meet him in his office. Privately, and after both of their shifts have ended.

He makes sure it reads as an order, not as a request.

Rodimus’ reply — a flippant ‘sure!’ he hadn’t even bother to properly capitalise, Magnus notes with displeasure — assures the ex-Enforcer that his captain had read at least read the message and will make some attempt to drop by the office later than sooner.

This gives him ample time to do other things. Time to clean up after himself. Time to store most of the materials away so they’re not in plain view. Time to write the first draft of his disciplinary reports for the likes of Hound and Drift and Jackpot for said materials that were found in their habsuites. The tasks and motions, dull and repetitive and safe, allows him to briefly chase away the tantalising images of Rodimus beneath him with his panels snapped open, Matrix blue optics blazing bright with lust and want.

It’s late into the night cycle when Rodimus, at long last, makes his way to Ultra Magnus’ office. The ex-Enforcer is finishing up the last of the disciplinary report drafts when he hears the familiar swish of his officer door opening and closing, the light pedefall of someone approaching his desk. Before he looks up he makes sure to send the command to his office’s automated system to lockdown the door. It would be a shame to have others disturb this meeting.

“Yo Mags!” Rodimus rests one servo on a hip, jutting it out further than the other. Magnus’ optics are quick to follow the motion, mesmerised by the fluidity. “Something I can do for you? I know I’m kinda late but got sidetracked by some things, ya know?”

A quick check of his HUD reveals just how late Rodimus is for this meeting. Very late. Of course he is, Magnus thinks to himself. Judging by the new shine to his frame and the lingering scent of sweet oils and wax that coins to him, Magnus can only deduce that, at some point, the speedster made a detour to his rooms so he could polish himself up.

Magnus dimly recalls Drift buying a new type of wax for his Amica, during one of their shore leaves. A surprise gift to spoil his already spoiled and pampered partner. He grudgingly admits Drift has good taste when it comes to showering his friend (and more?) with material items. Ultra Magnus finds himself unable to look away from the new pearlescent coat Rodimus wore over his armour, the lustrous finish giving great an generous emphasis to his curves while flattering his panels and lines with every movement he made. The new glow combined with the familiar biolights drew Magnus’ optics to his captain’s waist.

Ultra Magnus’ servos twitch at the sudden idea of enveloping the tapered waist in a too tight grip. One that would excite and entice the ever adventurous Rodimus, drawing out the prettiest moans out of the Nyonian. Magnus wonders what it’ll be like to press his servos against the waist, fingers caressing the pulsing lines of light and heat, before they skim down those long, long legs and dip in between them to—

“—Magnus! _Mags!_ ” Rodimus’ voice (thankfully) breaks him out of his fantasy before it can go too far. “Pilot to ship, pilot to ship! Any reason you’re gawking at me like I grew three helms or something?”

The only response he can muster to the question — after he checks his temperature and vocoder, not wanting to incriminate or embarrass himself about why he had been ‘gawking’ at his captain — is to simply reach for one of the drawers, yank it open, and pull out one of the confiscated discs he had in his possession. He then holds it up for Rodimus to see, to be unable to claim he can’t see what it is.

In the dim lights of his office, the gaudy reds and golds that were etched into the surface could still glint and shimmer. As if fire itself has been caught in the thin, delicate material.

“Ohhhh. The recordings.” To his non-surprise and faint irritation, Rodimus doesn’t have the decency to look embarrassed or mortified that his actions with the crew were discovered. “I was kind of wondering how long it’ll take for you to get wind of this but, to be honest, I was hoping you’d do it sooner. There’s this betting pool we have going on right now and—”

“Captain Rodimus.” The graveness in his voice is enough to have his captain quiet down and allow him to say his piece. He does his best to be concise and to the point, not wanting to lose his ground. “Yes. I’ve 'caught wind’ of this situation, as you’ve so eloquently described it. It’s why I’ve asked for your presence here.” Never once does it occur for him to stand up from behind his desk and nor does he care to entertain the idea. Not with what he has planned for the evening, should things go his way. “Because of the nature of the material I’ve discovered in the discs and other contraband items, I need to be confirm that this is you with your help.”

Rodimus’ jaw drops open in more confusion than shock and Magnus’ spike, throbbing and hard since he made the call hours ago, strains against the cover at the sight of invitingly open mouth. A brief processor purge causes him to remember how his captain looked when he had his mouth open like that. He was surrounded by some mechs and simply covered in transfluid and lubricant of his own and others while the mechs overloaded all over him, rubbing their spikes against his kiss-swollen lips and flush face as Rodimus kept begging for more transfluid to splatter on him.

Magnus is besieged with requests to let his array open and he shuts down the requests like he had earlier. Patience is a virtue.

His captain manages to, at long last, reboot his vocoder at long last, sputtering out a baffled, “What?! Confirm what?” Rodimus moves closer to the desk, gesturing passionately all the while. “Of course that’s me! Why wouldn’t that be me?” Rodimus sounds almost offended by this. Perhaps at the possible implication that someone could copy him of all mechs. “Do you see anyone else stealing my style besides Firestar? No and Firestar isn’t not on the ship too! What are you getting at, Mags?”

Seeing no point in delaying it, Magnus gets straight to the point: “I’ll need to examine you.”

The speedster’s optics, bright and blue and beautiful, bloom in… what exactly? Surprise? Fear? Arousal? It’s hard to tell with his captain.

”Oh…?”

“Yes. Oh.” Magnus has half a mind to explain the possibility of this being imitation porn or a case of mistaken identity. How it’s crucial to make sure this is merely him being mistaken in these recordings or something to that effect.

At the same time he knows his captain and how Rodimus has always preferred actions over words.

So Magnus leans back into his chair and gestures with his servo to the surface of his desk, keeping his expression stoic and bored. “Please settle yourself on the table, on your knees preferably, so I can begin my inspection.”

There’s hesitation on Rodimus’ part, looking at the desk and then back at Magnus. Staying where he is and holding in his vents as if he’s waiting for the punchline that’ll never come. Which confuses Magnus. What would he gain from this sort of joke? Why would he bother to joke, period? Magnus has never really gotten the hang of 'joking’ despite Megatron’s help and their shared planning to learn more about humour and puns.

Thankfully Ultra Magnus has been around Rodimus long enough to know how to get the gold and red mech’s attention: “Are you scared, sir?”

 _That_ gets Rodimus scrambling up onto the desk, the red and gold mech protesting at the very idea of him being scared over having some fun in front of someone, even if they’re a 'stiff’ like Magnus. While Rodimus kneels on the table and spreads his thighs nice and wide, his interface array snapping open to reveal his valve and spike.

He can’t help it. Magnus leans in a bit, trying to get a better look at the array he’s seen and fantasied in the last few hours.

Like Rodimus, the spike and valve are ostentatious and beautiful thanks to their shades of reds and golds along with the amount of attention and care Rodimus puts into his appearance. The valve is plump and full with a fat anterior node coloured a glowing amber nestled between the already lubricant slick folds. The spike is only half pressurised but it occasionally twitches and he can tell that— Yes. The head already has a bead of transfluid at the tip. There’s an urge to reach out, to caress, to claim for himself but he keeps those impulses in check.

 _All good things comes to those who wait_ , he thinks. It’s a phrase he’s come across in his reading sessions with Megatron. It seems appropriate now.

“Toy,” Magnus requests in a simple yet expecting tone once he gets his fill of admiring the pretty valve and spike of his captain. He raises an orbital ridge at the sight of Rodimus’ quizzical frown. “I find it hard to believe you don’t have at least one recreational toy with you at all times.”

… and out comes a false spike from Rodimus’ subspace, as expected. Magnus notes that the spike is almost big as his, ribbed and textured to an almost cartoonish abundance though its colours are a standard (almost boring) protoform grey. It takes him a second to realise that this is the toy that he’d seen Rodimus use in the very first video he’d reviewed and, suddenly, he is very pleased to see this is the toy that his captain is going to use for him.

For him. Magnus uses the word again in his mind while Rodimus adjusts his position on the desk, allowing those two words to roll about so he could truly savour it. For him. Rodimus is doing this for him, reason aside.

Oh how those two words causes his spark to burn and his array to ache. This is for him. Not for Hound. Not for Jackpot. Certainly not for Drift, the one who had the most videos and images and propositions thrown his way. This is for his optics only and it takes all his patience and reserves and a little bit more to keep his servos where they should be while Rodimus presses the spike’s tip against his valve, lift his hips up, and begin to slowly sink down on the toy.

Rodimus tries to stay quiet and is only able to hold out for a few seconds. The second the fat head rubs against the lips and nudges against node, he can’t help the moan of shock and approval that leaves him. “ _Ahhhhh…_ ”

The little sound of want that escapes him is music to Magnus’ audials, something he immediately records and keeps safe for future references and uses to come. There’s no denying the jolt of heat and arousal that courses through his frame when he sees the way the head of the spike parts Rodimus’ valve lips open, allowing him a glimpse of the inside of Rodimus’ puffy little valve before the head slides in and blocks the arousing view. The way the head pops in and is soon sheathed in Rodimus’ heat makes him almost feel the burning jealousy he’s felt ever since he discovered that first disc.

Soon Rodimus begins to work himself up and down the toy and runs his servos along his frame to tease himself further, causing sparks of static and electricity to follow in wake of his gliding caresses and barest of touches. The smile on his face undeniable despite the fierce blush to his cheeks whenever he locks optics with Magnus. His now fully pressurised spike bounces endearingly in front of the SIC, the strip of biolight that runs down the underside is almost calling out to be caressed with a finger or glossa.

“So far everything seems to be in order,” he says aloud for his benefit and Rodimus. To remind his captain that someone else is in the room and is also enjoying the show. "This current display matches up visually with the videos I’ve confiscated during the surprise inspection of the crew’s habsuites."

Here, Rodimus laughs a breathless laugh as he continues to move up and down the ribbed toy with reckless abandon, the sounds beginning to become more lewd and obscene with how his valve is starting to gush out lubricants from how worked up he’s becoming. “Woooow. Only you can keep yourself together and think about work while I’m riding a spike in front of you.” He teasingly flicks his hips forward, canting them just so that the head must be hitting the ceiling of his valve over and over again. It seems to be the case with how his captain whimpers and pants in between, “I wonder if— I wonder if that array Stormy gave to the armour even works.”

Ultra Magnus keeps his optics trained on Rodimus’s exposed valve while it works itself raw and pliant on the toy. He offlines his vocoder for good measure.

If only his captain knew.

Maybe he will in a bit.

“Please play with your anterior node.” He tries not to relish in the surprise that surges through Rodimus’ face and field at that command. Ultra Magnus fails miserably at it with how his tanks squirm in uncomfortable glee at the display of shock. “I will now need to match you with the audio I’ve heard. It includes, but not limited to, the sounds of the individual playing with themselves.” He reaches out to take Rodimus’ servos and helps guide it to the pulsing node, his gaze never leaving Rodimus’ face. “Please begin.”

The demonstration in front of him is sloppier than what he’s seen on the vids and its enticing all the same. Perhaps even more since he gets to see it in real life. See the way those golden fingers shamelessly begin flicking and pinching and tugging at the node, Rodimus no doubt chasing after the electricity that must be pooling in his tank and running up his backstruts the more he begins to multitask in his little demonstration.

And all the while, the gorgeous mech begins to unravel under Magnus’ steely gaze. Steam rises through the open gaps of his armour. Pants and whine become louder, sharper in need and want that matches with the _desperation_ - _lust_ - _excitement_ that floods Rodimus’ field and seemingly fills the air with needneedneed.

“Match up with what you’ve seen so far?” Rodimus flashes his SIC a cocky grin, rolling his hips in a sensual display in his attempt to fluster his stoic officer. The facade quickly breaks down in the wake of Magnus pushing Rodimus’ servo away so he can begin to play with the node himself, throwing Rodimus’ off his game when the first harsh tug causes him to startle. “Holy slag—!”

“The individual in the videos sometimes had a partner play with his node should they have an anonymous partner,” Ultra Magnus replies to the question Rodimus neither asked nor cared for. He tweaks and twists the node and tugs tugs tugs until he has Rodimus throwing his helm back, letting out a keening wail. “It only makes sense I help in this part.”

“Ahh—! Mags! Mags please!” Magnus must admit, he’s impressed by how Rodimus continues to bounce up and down on the spike he’s all but embedded on now though he’s given up on touching his frame. He opts to instead reach out and grab onto Magnus’ arm, a vain attempt to keep himself steady though he wavers and wobbles in his place. “Ahh… _Ahhh—!_ Frag oh frag oh frag—! If you do that… If you keep doing that than I think I’m gonna—”

And course this is the moment that Drift decides to enter his office unannounced, using his still functioning override code to open the door and stroll right into a scene that has him stop altogether.

“ _Magnus?_ ”

“Drift,” Magnus greets him and he’s impressed with how put together he sounds in his own audials. He speaks louder, trying to be heard over Rodimus’ babbles and pleas. “Is there something you need?”

With optics wide as saucers and a field flush with _confusion_ - _bewilderment_ - _arousal(?)_ , Drift manages to stammer out a reply: “I was… I was looking for Roddy. I remember him mentioning to me that you called for him.” His gaze flits to his friend. Said friend still pleasuring himself with the fake spike, continuing the sinful roll of his hips and the haunting way his hips buck every time he sheathed the toy completely inside of him. “I… I see he’s, ah, enjoying your company.”

Ultra Magnus is quick to hear the note of mild jealously and allows the petty rush of victory to rush through him. He knows how close Drift and Rodimus are with one another since the ex-Decepticon’s return to the ship. It’ll make sense the Amicas will try to make up for chances lost between the two of them, spending much time as possible.

Much as Magnus feels sympathy for Drift, the mech will have to wait for his turn when it comes to being the sole focus of their captain’s attention.

“He is.” He reaches out to begin stroking and fondling the spoiler while continuing to pinch and flick the valve’s nub, making Rodimus buck and wail. “I’m afraid whatever affairs you have planned with him for the evening must be postponed. This is a serious matter we must settle by the cycle.”

It’s here that Drift’s demeanour changes. Gone is his slight mortification and bewilderment. Now in its place is awareness and hyper vigilance, wary optics skimming Rodimus’ bouncing frame as if to look for injuries. “I’ll be fine with that if Rodimus is.” When he addresses Rodimus, Drift’s voice is gentler and, in a way, indulgent. “Are you okay?”

“More then okay! Fantastic! Awesome! Great!” Rodimus tears his optics away from a disapproving Magnus and the speedster looks over his pauldron and spoiler, flashing his beloved Amica a smile. “Just— Just helping Mags with some work. We can hit up Swerve’s soooooh oh oh oh frag.” Rodimus stops speaking and shutters his optics, wanting to fully enjoy the way the spike’s head slammed into a cluster of sensor nodes in him just as Magnus flicked his anterior node and made him see stars in his flickering vision. “Ah… Hnn… Yeah. We can hit up Swerve’s some other time, Drift. Promise.”

Drift can’t leave the office fast enough when Rodimus gives his assurances. While Magnus gives the command to lock the door again, making it a point to block any of Drift’s own override codes from here on out, Rodimus is trying not to laugh himself sick upon returning his gaze to the SIC.

“Wow. I can’t believe that you’d… Just wow.” He looks at Magnus, amusement and something more in his cloudy optics. “I had no idea you were into that sort of thing. If I hadn’t come to your office, would you be making me do this in front of a crowd right now?”

The mental image of Rodimus playing with himself in public with a crowd gawking at his actions causes Magnus’ vents to stutter and stall. That’s—That’s an unseeingly thing to do. Debauched, even.

Then again Magnus isn’t supposed to be having his captain fragging himself on his desk too. All he can say without exposing himself too much is a sten, “Please refocus on the task at hand, sir.” that he punctuates with a sharp slap to the busy valve.

Rodimus gets the message soon enough, renewing his breakneck pace but Magnus opts to continue teasing his captain, edging him on and on and on until Rodimus is soon reduced to a babbling and mewling mess once more. Both of their fans on by this point, buffeting the pair in exvents of hot air, adding to the overwhelming orgy of sensations and sights and sounds and smells.

Merciless. That’s how Magnus approaches Rodimus in this affair while he rubs the nub rough and raw, sending too much sensations crossing through the straining frame. Magnus’ other servo is now holding onto to a red hip, keeping a tight grip on it like his own life depended on it. Like his life depended on Rodimus continuing the sinful roll of his hips, the haunting way his hips buck every time he sheathed the toy completely inside of him. Even when Rodimus begins to falter in his pace, Magnus continues to guide him up and down on the slick drenched toy, all but fucking Rodimus with the spike that could be his.

Rodimus is drooling by now. His mouth hanging open so wide and invitingly that Magnus needs to avert his gaze to Rodimus’ hungry valve, finding that to be less of a temptation somehow. He’s fascinated by the trickles of lubricant that run down Rodimus’ shapely thighs and wonders what his own transfluid would look like if its running down the pair. 

“Mags,” Rodimus chokes out, breaking out of his pleasurable haze to look at his officer. “Mags I gotta come now. I’m so fragging close I need to please please please.”

“Not yet.” Magnus pulls his servo back and his spark wrenches at the way Rodimus wails at the sudden departure of the pain-pleasure he’s grown to love. “We’re almost done. I only need you to say one more thing."

Desperate and flustered and falling apart so beautifully that its a breathtaking sight to behold, Rodimus agrees to whatever Magnus wants. “What do you want me to say? What is it? Tell me please tell me.”

Ultra Magnus notes how dry his intakes are when he swallows.

“My name. Keep saying my name, Rodimus.” It’s all he ever wanted from this and, true to form, Rodimus goes above and beyond when he’s motivated enough.

“Ultra Magnus. Mags. Magnus,” tumbles out of the gold and red mech’s lips. Magnus’ designation comes slips out of Rodimus so easily. As if it was made for that and it makes Magnus wonder what else Rodimus’ mouth can do for him. “Magnus. Magnus. Mags. Mags. Magnus Magnus Magnus please please Magnus _please_ —”

For good measure and, perhaps, to prove a point, Magnus goes in for the kill and pulls his servo back to give the fat pulsing anterior node a good slap just as Rodimus slams himself down on the spike.

That has Rodimus screaming in the end — Both from surprise and the overload that overtakes his frame as he finally goes over the edge. His frame seizes up while charges and arcs of released electricity runs across his frame, wreathes him in light. His valve clamps down on the spike, trying to milk it for all the transfluid that will never fill Rodimus to the breaking point while his own spike releases spurt after spurt of pearlescent pink fluids, splattering across Rodimus’ chassis in a debauched fashion.

Magnus watches all of this happen, mesmerised.

By the time Rodimus is brought back down from his overload and sinks down, not caring at all that he’s still stuffed silly with his toy, Magnus can tell he’s tired and spent. He’s pushed well beyond his breaking point. Anything else after this would simply be overkill.

“How’s… How’s that?” Rodimus looks to Magnus after his processor and vision clears enough. There is a sense of exhaustion and lazy satisfaction coursing through his raw and ragged field, his small yet gorgeous smile. “Finally decided that it was really me on the  footage?”

Magnus doesn’t give him an answer. Not yet. He first helps Rodimus off the false spike to ensure his captain’s safety. He can’t help but sigh at the lewd (and messy) sight of the river of lubricant spilling out from between the speedster’s legs, splattering and staining Magnus’ poor desk. It’ll be a nightmare to clean up no doubt but that’s for later.

Right now he settles Rodimus down… by pushing the captain onto his back on the desk. The sudden and abrupt move causes the mech to follow with little resistance and now Rodimus finds himself sprawled across the swathe of his own sticky fluids, marring the gorgeous polish of his frame he must have slaved on for hours before coming here.

Magnus finally stands up from his seat, looming over the startled captain while he spreads Rodimus’ shaking legs as far as they’ll allow and he bends them at the knees so he’s comfortably situated between his commander. He gives the command to let his interface array part and his spike, large and slick and oh so very eager to be released, surges into view and soon stands proud in the junction between Rodimus’ thighs. He leans forward and is unable to suppress the shiver when his spike rests against the warm and wet valve, feeling for himself how soft Rodimus truly is.

Like a copper deer caught in headlights, Rodimus gazes up at his SIC with wide optics and an open mouth before he stammers out a timid, “M-Magnus?”

“In some videos, the individual on the screen is obviously seen interfacing with an anonymous partner.” He pulls back and lines the tip of his straining spike against Rodimus’ valve, testing the looseness of the mech quivering beneath him. “That’ll need to be recreated too in order to be sure of the authenticity of your claims, captain. It would be unwise of us to not be thorough about this.”

He’s pleased by how quickly the lips yield and part. It allows him a tantalising glimpse to the inside of Rodimus’ puffy little valve, muscles still fluttering from the fading waves of the overload, before the head slides in and blocks the view.

Only the head of his spike is in Rodimus and already Magnus is trying to keep his struts from melting. Rodimus feels soft and warm around him. Obviously sloppy and relaxed thanks to the earlier demonstration. It’ll still be a tight fit for him and that’s fine.

He’s picked up from the confiscated materials that Rodimus likes it rough. Why else would his captain lift his hips up so the SIC had better access to his valve?

“Mags… Mags…”

“That’s right. Keep saying my name.” Magnus ducks his head down, just enough for his lips to brush against Rodimus’ audial. He can’t help himself but give the red kibble a firm nip and nibble. If only to hear a lovely gasp push out of his captain’s lips. “You’ll have a lot of time to do that, captain.”

He thrusts in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a quick few edits, I said. No need to expand on anything, I said. There’s no way I’ll add to this chapter over two thousand words and a scene where Drift walks in to see his bro dick himself on Magnus’ desk, I lied to myself through gritted teeth.


End file.
